Scarlet Tears
by Stella Anon
Summary: She hid her emotions for years, denying herself of their existence. But when they start to overwhelm her, she can no longer hide from the demons that plague her thoughts. Warning: Quistis angst, language


Scarlet Tears 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of FFVIII so don't sue me if you don't like the fic.

* * *

_I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of my life and I'm tired of pretending. I just want to let go and stop thinking anymore._

Everything I do is pretence. Nobody notices and nobody gives a damn care. I'm just going along; living up to the character I've created.

So many damn lies…

They sat together, knee-to-knee. He with his eyes shaded by the rim of his cowboy hat, she with her eyes downcast to the cold marble ground. Both looked away, neither wanting to speak to the other.

Presently, she began to sob. Large tears streamed down her cheeks and she opened her mouth in a loud wail of grief. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her closer to him, comforting her in silence. She leaned against him, asking but one word over and over again.

'Why?'

There was no answer.

* * *

_Back then I might have tried to fight this. I wouldn't allow myself to think this way. It's not me, it's just not me._

But now I can't stop asking myself…

…Is this me?

The Training Centre was normally filled with primal noises, being an artificial jungle filled with living and breathing monsters. But today there was silence. Not a roar, not a rustle, not a cry, nothing but a single continuous howl of rage.

The jungle floor lay littered with carcasses of countless Grats and even a few T-Rexaurs. The whirlwind that passed through had left a path of destruction in its wake and one could easily pick up on its trail.

A blue shirt lay nearby, forgotten in the blossoming fury which had enveloped the centre. All of the jungle's inhabitants had wisely fled back to their homes, avoiding the raging ferocity turned loose.

One young man, shirtless and breathless, was the only one seen. Sweat poured down his forehead, down the intricate dragon tattoo on his face and unto the ground. His gloves were worn from the assault his fists had rained on its victims and the little skin that showed through was cracked and bleeding.

His left hand held a dying Grat by the tentacle, his other hand continued to pummel it mercilessly. The creature, normally a bloodthirsty monster which had slewed many of its own kind for the battle of survival, could not withstand the frenzy of a grieving fighter and was reduced to nothing more than a shapeless, beaten pulp of green goo. Finally it gave up and gladly let go of any shred of life left in its body. Nevertheless the young man did not cease his assaults but continued to vent his pain into the Grat's body.

The inhabitants of the Training Centre retreated into their hiding places, afraid of the sudden terror that had descended upon them.

* * *

_Doesn't anyone care about me? Doesn't anyone see how much I'm hurting inside? No, they don't. They're too wrapped up in their own damned world to care about me. Why should they care anyway? I never let them see how I really feel. All my fault. All my damn fault._

Hyne, I hate myself.

Little batches of students were scattered here and there on the corridor of the second floor. Some whispered words of support to each other, encouraging each other to hold on. Most murmured broken words filled with sobs, looking around for solace that could not be found.

One lone group of students stood apart from the rest. They shed the most tears, moaned the loudest cries. A single home-made badge of gold and blue was pinned to their chests. They hugged each other, trying not to collapse from their overwhelming grief. The other students respected their mourning and left them alone. This group's pain was inconsolable and none wished to try to be the first to break it.

* * *

_I hate the reflection that stares back into my face everyday. I don't know who she is. You know what I think of her? She's nothing but a lying, two-faced, ass-kissing fucking bitch._

Baby-killer, innocence-snatcher, heartless mercenary, deceitful liar, selfish whore, ice-cold bitch.

She stared into the doctor's eyes in shock and disbelief. She couldn't believe what she had just heard, she just couldn't. Her companion stood beside her, his eyes closed and his teeth gritted in an expression of pain. An expression he rarely expressed openly.

"No! She can't be dead! She just can't be dead!" She shrieked. She advanced threateningly and glared with anger at the doctor. "You're lying, doctor! You're just lying!"

"Rinoa, I'm sorry." Kadowaki said wearily, her eyes filled with grief. "There was nothing we could do. The hit was aimed at her temple and at that range, it was impossible for her to miss.

"Hyne, no! Squall, no!" She fell into his arms and began to wail aloud. He held her, trying to understand the doctor's words. "How could she? How could she do this to us?"

Squall looked at the doctor and his eyes were misty. "Why did she do this?"

Kadowaki shook her head as her own sobs choked her voice. "I don't know, Squall. I just don't know."

* * *

_This is so pathetic. So pointless. So fucking FUTILE!_

Look at me, I'm so perfect. I'm so competent. I'm so intelligent. I'm so fucking lying to myself and to everyone.

Quistis Trepe, promising cadet. Quistis Trepe, youngest Seed. Quistis Trepe, youngest Instructor. Quistis Trepe, role model to every SeeD and cadet. Quistis Trepe, savior of the entire fucking world.

…who the hell am I kidding?

For days, the whole of Garden's population mourned the loss of one of their greatest warriors. The funeral was filled with her heartiest supporters and closest friends. Cid and his wife, Edea were still in shock and they acknowledged none of the consolers who had come to watch the memorial service of Balamb's greatest heroine. Both had yet to register the death of one of their own children.

After the funeral, the surviving members of those who survived Time Compression wandered around like zombies. Their movements were mechanical and their emotions were dulled. The questions that tormented them were relentless.

Why did she do it? Why did she have to kill herself? Was it my fault? Was it something I did? Could I have stopped her?

Self-reproach hit harder.

I should have done something. I should have seen how withdrawn she was. I should have asked her what's wrong. She would have told me, told us. We're her friends.

…aren't we?

_Doesn't anyone care about what I think? What I feel?_

…why should they? I was such a whiny bitch that even Squall told me to go talk to a wall.

Squall leaned back in his chair, massaging his throbbing temples. It's been a week since she died and he still couldn't let go of his grief. He stared morosely down at the papers on his desk, not a single word on them making any sense to him.

A red-eyed Xu approached the withdrawn commander cautiously. In her hand, she held a brown cardboard box. Placing it reverently on his desk, she spoke to him softly as if to lessen the blow.

"Commander…Squall, you need to see this. They're her belongings. There's a letter inside… I think you better get the rest up here now."

His eyes sparkled to life and he stabbed at the intercom button. Moments later, the whole gang had gathered to read Quistis' last words.

_Hello world. Let me tell you who I really am right now. Expect to keel over in shock after this._

There're only two things I'm good at (no I'm not good at anything else, trust me). Murdering innocents and play-acting. The first one is thanks to my SeeD training. The second is just a little hobby of mine, one I perfected everyday. Until it became as natural as breathing. I use it so that nobody will recognize who I am.

Quistis Trepe the failure.

Failed my foster family's expectations - I hope they're burning in hell now, those pathetic fucking specimens of humanity. Failed at instructing, couldn't even teach my students the proper SeeD etiquette. Failed to stop my student from turning to a sorceress' lapdog. Failed to protect my friends from the war. Failed to even cover my friends' backs in battle against that ultimate bitch. Yes, I couldn't even stop my friends from being absolved into her timeless dimension. Selphie, Irvine, please forgive me for the horror I put you through…

Selphie was the first to utter a sound, protesting against the words on the white sheet of paper. Irvine bowed his head, refusing to look up even to comfort his beloved.

_I just want to let go of everything. Let go and not give a damn anymore. Not care about what others think. Not care about what they feel, how they feel or what they expect of me._

Zell swore to himself, remembering that he never asked her why she always looked so sad. He had always wanted to ask her, now that chance was gone.

_I'm not perfect. I can't be what you want me to be. I can't be that beautiful idealistic woman everyone thinks I am. I'm just a scarred cynic. I was brought up as a soldier, damn it! Not as a beloved daughter who had everything her heart desired!_

Rinoa uttered a broken whimper, a stab of guilt running through her heart.

_I'm so tired of everything. Just let go and drift away. Maybe I'll do that. Let go of everything. Nobody gives a damn anyway. I don't want to be a puppet anymore. Acting according to the script that was given to me. Who's the damn scriptwriter anyway? I'm sick of doing what **I** don't want to do._

Squall winced and pushed away the paperwork from his desk.

_I managed to sneak a handgun from the basic weapons supplies unit. It's just so tempting right now to load it up, put it to my head and just pull the damn trigger. Click, bang and no more of this shit._

…I think I'll do this. No more lying.

…I wish things don't have to turn out this way. I wish I could just redo my life all over again. But I can't. It's too late. I've already loaded the gun. When I put this pen down, I'm going to end it all.

…I'm sorry everyone. I just can't keep this façade up anymore. Forgive me.

…I love you all. Goodbye.

Quisty

* * *

**Notes:** Have you ever thought what goes through Quistis' mind? Everyone takes her for granted and she gets pushed into the background. This morbid little ficcy idea floated into my head in the middle of the night and I just knew I had to write it down. Review and let me know if you agree or disagree with me on this point of view.

And yes I swear that I believe that Quistis can overcome such emotions better than in this fic. Just thought I'd try something out for a change. :P


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